


Bark and Bite (DISCONTINUED)

by canisspiritus (renardroi)



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Sexual Assault, demon parvis, implied Xephos/Will, parvill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:04:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renardroi/pseuds/canisspiritus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife summons a demon, and forgets to take a few precautionary measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahha ahh a help me

Parvis is basking in the glorious heat of hellfire when he feels it. A tug, deep in his very being, gently nudging him away from the realms of the immortal beings and into the overworld. 

How quaint, he thinks. No one’s ever been so polite about a ritual summoning. Usually, one minute he’s in the immortal realms, divulging in the erotic taste of the flesh and blood of damned, and the next he’s sitting in some sorcerer or alchemist’s summoning circle - or, on good days, in the basement of a hapless family, surrounded by innocent little beasties who have no idea what they’ve just let into their homes. 

This time (and the time is roughly 3:33:08 am where he’s summoned to), it’s quite different. Standing before him is a well-dressed man, blonde hair and pretty green eyes that remind him of a succubus who owes him a few souls. The man has his arms crossed, seemingly impatient, but the way he licks his lips and taps a finger against his arm is more telling.

Parvis licks his own lips and slides easily into reality. The man’s eyes widen.

Parvis cocks a hip and examines the summoning circle around him.  _Tsk, tsk_ , he thinks. The lad’s made a grave error in the runes. The summoning circle is barren, with only a few runes of connection – put there to reach the underworld. It’s missing what any sorcerer with a semblance of forethought would have included, protection and entrapment. Runes to keep the summoned from injuring the summoner, and runes to keep the summoned in the circle.

The man clears his throat and Parvis gives him a wicked grin, stretching. His black wings unfurl dramatically, the ends of them drooping and lightly touching the edges of the circle. His form and his being stretch, the latter pushing and warping reality just briefly. It’s not possible to detect on the visible realm at that level, but he can see the man shudder.

“ **Hello** ,” Parvis drawls, stepping lazily out of the summoning circle. “ **You called?** " 

The first signs of panic begin to show as the man takes a step back, obviously surprised that the daemon he’s summoned now has free reign in his realm. Parvis opens a tear through reality, steps through, and materializes again beside the man. 

“ **What a disgusting soul you have, young man** ,” he whispers into his ear, his arms draped around the human’s shoulders. He leisurely taps his long claws against the man’s collar bone, practically purring. “ **I hope you have something better to bargain with, since you neglected to flesh out your circle for me.** " 

He doesn’t reply, only swallows uncomfortably and looks scared. Cute. 

“ **Nothing to say?** " Parvis pouts, taking a step and appearing beside the man’s desk. There are notes on the circle, several question marks, runes written in the old tongue. Boring, boring, boring. He swipes away the papers and books with his long tail and perches on the desk.

They’re in a relatively large room, but it looks like it must have been much less spacious at some point. Machinery and boxes and various things have been pushed out of the way to make room for the circle. There are tall windows that tell Parvis that they’re definitely not close to the ground, and that it’s quite dark outside.

He turns back to the man. " **At least give me your name, blondie.** ”

"W-will Strife." He stutters out hesitantly, and Parv smiles with rows of sharp teeth. 

“ **Strife?** " Parv laughs. " **I think we’re going to get along just fine.** ”

Strife doesn’t answer.

“ **You look perturbed, Will.** " Parvis folds his wings neatly against his back. It’s never quite as fun if they don’t speak. Well, preferably they scream, but this boy, Strife - what a lovely name - didn’t look the type.  " **Maybe I can help you with something.**

“ **Hmm?** " Parv steps and he’s hanging on Will Strife again. " **Oh, I know. It’s the matter of the circle, isn’t it? Didn’t work like you expected?** " 

"You’re supposed to stay in the circle. You’re supposed to be tra-" 

Parv snarls angrily. “ **The only thing I’m supposed to do, Will Strife, is grant your single request. And since you have no runes on your circle to keep me here, and no runes of protection, I have free reign.** ”

The daemon lets him be, taking another look around the room. It’s all very official, mechanical. Some of the papers he’s spilled look like reports. And better they have Strife’s name plastered all over them. He must fancy himself to be a businessman.

"So, why are you still here then?" 

“ **Pardon?** " Parv asks with a wide smile, giving him a chance to rethink his question.

"If you can do whatever you want, why are you still in my tower?" Will crosses his arms and glares at the daemon. "Why not terrorize the countryside at your whim, and whatnot?" 

“ **Will,** " Parv croons, sauntering over to him. " **Willy Will, you precious little thing.** " 

Parvis pulls Strife’s head to his chest and pets it in faux affection. He emphasizes each word by tapping his long claws into the man’s scalp. “ **After a few millennia, you realize that the things that bring you true happiness in life, are the things you earn through hard work and perseverance. Burning down the countryside is too easy. Dragons are old hat, Willy.** " 

He lets Strife wrestle free from his grasp and straighten himself out. 

"Don’t. Call me that." He huffs indignantly, and Parvis laughs. "Fine. How long are you going to be here then?" 

“ **Until you get what you summoned me here for. Which was…?** " 

Strife bites his cheek, and looks embarrassed. Peculiar, not many of the mortals he’s meddled with had looked anything but pompous and absolutely greedy. Their souls were tainted by entitlement, and he’d expected the same for this. But Strife here, his little businessman, doesn’t look like quite so entitled to what he’s asking for. And Parv wonders what exactly has stained his soul. 

Something darker than lust? Something baser than envy? 

“ **Spit it out, pretty boy. I haven’t the time for your hesitation.** " He should get a closer look at that soul, he thinks. He wants to dig his claws into it and rip it open. Let it bleed whatever it was that had touched it and dimmed it. It would make a pretty bauble - or he could swallow it and keep the mortal body alive. That was always fun. 

"What if I’ve changed my mind?" 

“ **Too late, I’m here. The magic’s spent.** " Parv sidles up to him, sliding his hands up his chest and against his neck. He should resist the desire to cut his throat and take his soul. The reapers would get here before he could do anything. He whispers, " **No take-backs, Willy. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.** ”


	2. All Souls Go To The Reapers

For a moment, Strife looks like he’s going to tell him, lips parting though his expression remains concerned. In a split second it changes though, and he shuts his mouth firmly. 

“ **Fine,** " Parvis relents. He grins brightly. " **I’m a patient man - as the saying goes. Even more so with the added bonus of not being made of flesh, like you. Aren’t you excited? An eternity with me?** " 

"There has to be a way to send you back without all the fuss of the Trade." Will says, trying to pull away from the daemon’s grasp. Parv lets him go, following close behind as the human makes his way to the desk that’s been wiped clean. 

“ **Perhaps,** " Parvis purrs, stroking the back of Strife’s neck as he stoops to pick up some of his notes. " **Forgive me if I decline to indulge your curiosity. I’m much more interested in your mortal life than I am in returning to the lowest pits of hell in which, I can assure you, I reside.** ”

Strife’s patience seems to break with the combination of the physical attention and the knowledge now that the daemon was going to be wholly unhelpful. He shoves Parvis’ hands away and picks his things up, looking rather befuddled and bewildered. 

"Stop that," he complains, standing again even though he’s only gathered a small portion of his notes. Luckily, Parvis won’t hurt him for the infraction, won’t rend his flesh for ordering him around. How insulting that a mere mortal might think themself so mighty that they could tell him what to do. But Parv is not without his merits, his generosity. He doesn’t do much besides give Strife an unamused frown. 

“ **Perhaps a sorcerer could help you.** " Parvis suggests politely. 

Strife raises an eyebrow at him. “ **No? An alchemist? A wizard, or witch? Do you know anyone with knowledge of the occult and all things satanic?** " 

"I don’t like magic."

“ **You like it enough when it suits you,** " Parvis bites back, eyes flashing red. He regains his composure and sits atop the desk again. 

“ **So.** " He stretches like he’s just woken up, back arching. " **No witches in your life, hmm? What’d you do then? Find something on the internet that looked vaguely promising and perform the ritual, not thinking that it would actually work or preparing in any way?** " 

The look on Strife’s face answers that question. 

“ **Come on, Will,** " Parv appears in front of him, head tilted to the side as he plays with the buttons on Strife’s vest. " **Just tell me what you want. Is it a girlie? I can be girl if you want - no trouble at all.** " 

Parvis lets this form tear apart, re-assembling into a human of the female sex. Pretty and feminine, long wavy hair and long eyelashes, and more importantly, just as nude as the demon had been. She smiles softly as she unbuttons the first of Strife’s vest. 

"No!" Will looks flustered, his face turning red. 

“ **A boy then?** " She changes again; a little more squared, less soft, and he herds Strife against the wall, still undoing his vest. He leans in to smell the blood that flows so eagerly to Strife’s face. Mmm, mortal flesh always had such a delicious smell. Especially the virginal ones. 

"W- no. No -"

“ **Neither?** " They say, reaching for his dress shirt. Will’s things slip from his grasp as they kiss the soft skin of his neck. The flesh _tastes_ even better. Strife shakes his head and they make a small disappointed sound. 

“ **Something a little more alien?** " It hisses in his ear, nearly halfway done with his shirt. It can hear Strife’s speeding heartbeat and his pitiful stuttering, and it changes back into its original form. Parvis licks along Will’s jawline, drawing a gasp from him that sounds nearly as enticing as he smells. He hums happily, " **Or maybe you like me better like this. Just tell me Willy, and it’ll be easier.** ”

No response besides the mortal’s heavy breathing. Parvis growls in frustration and tears himself from the visible realm, leaving Will Strife with his shirt undone and looking unsettled. Best to leave him to stew. He’ll come ‘round eventually. 

* * *

There are a few ways you get your hands on a soul.

The first, of course, being the Trade. A soul is offered as payment for certain tasks and magic, but the Trade can be tedious. Most daemons have to wait until they’re summoned before they can even offer a deal, and summonings often are games of chance when it comes to which daemon is chosen, and whether or not the person summoning them is even savvy to the workings of Trades or willing to offer their souls. 

Moreover, the Trade is tied up with tedious rules and things like protective runes to keep everyone nice and honest. 

Thank the dark powers that be, that for once, Parvis needn’t deal with such things. While it was a possibility to bend the rules quite far, the matter of fulfilling often such extraordinarily extravagant deals could be exhausting. It was the rare occasions like these that should be cherished, where the summoner was completely ignorant and unprepared. 

The second way to acquire a soul, is through worship. It’s something that’s all but disappeared in modern times; the worship of a singular daemon and thus giving up ownership to _them_ , rather than to – perhaps – The Devil himself, or God, or whatever. In older times, families of sorcerers _often_ kept household daemons that might sneak Luck or give protection in return for their souls. Some lucky daemons eventually became pagan gods. 

After all that’s occurred, Parvis is pretty certain this option is least likely to happen with his dear little scientist, especially since the human seems to be sulking around his tower like a scorned child. It seems then, that unless he can get a deal out of the human, he’s going to have to use much sneakier methods.

* * *

Parv keeps himself out of the visible realm for two days, letting Strife think. By the time he appears again, the tower they’re in is beginning to stink of anxiety and suspicion - rightly so, of course. A daemon loose in your home is no laughing matter. 

He pops back into the visible plane as Strife is going through his morning routines - which include extreme amounts of coffee, and while Parv is not very knowledgeable about a human’s physical anatomy, he’s pretty sure _this much_ should be close to lethal for them. However, it seems that imbibing nearly an entire pot as well as some tea for good measure is the only thing that keeps the human on his feet since - well, since he doesn’t sleep. 

Which is why, Parvis, the gracious and helpful daemon he his, materializes across from Strife at about 5:30:43 am. 

“ **I’ve heard that insomnia can be fatal** ,” he offers as he leans onto the man’s desk, currently being used also as a dining table as Will almost reluctantly takes a break from work to nibble on a bagel. 

"There hasn’t been any solid proof that a lack of sleep can kill you besides indirectly," Strife sighs, rubbing his eyes. 

“ **Oh good,** " Parv says with exaggerated relief. " **I’d hate to lose your soul. If you died I’d probably only be able to sneak a bite - maybe two? - in before the reapers came.** " 

Strife gives him a tired glare. 

“Why are you still here?”

“ **I told you, I can’t le-** ”

"You said you can’t go back to wherever the hell -"

“ **Not wherever, just Hell.** ”

”- you came from, but that doesn’t mean you can’t leave here. Go suck the souls out of someone who cares.”

“ **Strife, pet -** ”

"Don’t call me that." 

“ **Will, pet, I have a policy of perseverance. And I simply adore the state of your soul. I know my earlier statements may have suggested otherwise -** ”

"I’m pretty sure you called it ‘disgusting’."

“ **Well - yes. But in a good way.** ”

"I - is there a good way?" 

“ **Is this why you’re mad at me, Will?** " He asks, his claws clicking on the desk. 

"I - no."

“ **Why, then?** ”

"Well-"

“ **Open up, Will, tell me how you feel.** " Parv leans across Strife’s desk to put his hand on his. "I want us to have an honest relationship with each other." 

"I - I don’t want an honest relationship."

“ **What?** " Parvis pouts. 

"I don’t want a relationship at all." 

“ **I can’t believe this. What are you saying?** " 

"What?!" Strife looks positively baffled, having long since abandoned his coffee and still not nearly awake enough for whatever this conversation is. 

“ **I thought I - I thought we meant something to you.** " 

"We?" Strife makes a face at the implication. He groans and puts his head in his hands. 

Parvis gives him a moment to think, to digest. And then he flashes a small smile at Will, even though he can’t see it. “ **Come on, Will. Just tell me what you want.** ”


	3. No Progress At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a problem. It's called I like to write in tiny sections, groups of teeny events. Horrible, jus t hor iible ...

Parv spends a lot of time messing with Strife. He sticks his hands in the various machines the man keeps, disconnects them from their power sources, pulls out tiny screws or whatever it takes for them to suddenly stop working and creak and groan for Strife’s attention. It amuses him to see Will stomp over to the machines, looking around for him. When that stops being funny, he messes with the _businessman’s_ source of power.

He tinkers with the insides of the coffee – er, espresso thing – stopping it from making his beloved source of caffeine when it’s programmed to (as soon as Will wakes up). Instead it beeps and turns on at around two in the morning, leaving his drink cold when he gets up.

Worse, Parv delights in unplugging Strife’s alarm clock, sometimes letting him sleep in until he wakes up and realizes just how much of the day he’s missed. Other times he decides to wake him up himself, filling the room with the acrid smell of smoke and affectionately telling Strife that the tower is on fire.

Strife quickly tires, opting to ignore Parv. Oddly enough, his antics seem to ensure that Strife is actually getting more sleep. He goes to bed earlier so that he wakes up at a decent hour, and needs his coffee less and less. Parvis finds himself trying to pester him with questions about his work, but the human takes the time to explain – and although he sounds annoyed, Parv isn’t entirely convinced. He seems to enjoy talking about his work.

He spends a lot of time in the gardens – which was a surprising addition to the machines and industrial looking building.

Amongst the sunflowers, the lazy Sunday sun drifting lower in the sky, Strife asks him again; why he hasn’t left, even though he can’t see Parv. He seems to know he’s around even when he’s not visible.

If he’s honest with Strife, he’d tell him that he has. He’s visited the dwarf and his mate, the strange scientist, the flux girl. And while they’re all off doing much more interesting things, he can’t say he cares. This peculiar human with a workaholic streak a mile long has his rapt attention for some reason, and it’s infuriating.

So he doesn’t answer, except to laugh at Will’s bemused expression.

* * *

Parvis takes to napping comfortably in the sun. Wherever it is that Will’s made his home, it has lovely weather. He falls asleep on top of the tower, tail curling and uncurling as the sun warms him. It’s not nearly as hot here as it is at home, but it’s still comfortable, especially when Strife keeps the tower so cold.

When it does rain, it storms. Thunder cracks ominously, the air charged with static, and the entire place smells like petrichor and other newly wet things. With the storm, comes the storm mage.

Parvis spies what’s under the human flesh he’s wearing, the eyes and the ethereal smoke, but does not comment. In fact he makes no attempt to speak to him, lingering in the garden while Strife and the not-mage speak. However, it seems he still catches his eyes.

He appears suddenly beside him, catching his wrist and yanking him into the visible realm. Parv makes a small surprised sound as Will makes his way over to the two of them.

“You have a pest.” His voice rolls like thunder, all of his eyes staring into Parvis disapprovingly. The daemon doesn’t quite know what he is, but he knows he must outrank him, and has the decency to keep his eyes on the ground and his head bowed respectfully.

“I’m aware,” Strife sighs.

“I didn’t know you were dabbling in sorcery, you should have told me.” He says with an amused expression. “I could have told you about the runes. You could have easily had a pet instead of a pest.”

“No use now, kirin.” Strife tells him, obviously exasperated.

“Ah,” The kirin – as Strife calls him, though he feels far more powerful than that – glances between them. “I see. I trust you can handle it then.”

“I’ll be fine.”

* * *

The storm man lets him go and he bolts, disappearing into the tower.

Strife comes up later, damp from the rain that’s disappearing slowly. He smirks at Parvis, “Cowering in the tower? I thought you were an all-powerful demon from the underworld. Didn’t realize a mage would scare you off, I would have invited him sooner.”

“ **A mage he is not** ,” Parvis replies sullenly. “ **I thought you would be smart enough to know that.** ”

“What is he then?” Strife asks, sounding genuinely curious and surprised. But Parv doesn’t respond. “You don’t know?”

“ **I didn’t say that!** ” Parvis protests.

“No, but you were doing that thing with your tail.” The daemon snatches his offending tail out of the air. “You started doing that when I stopped bothering with the espresso machine, and you make that face.”

“ **What face?** ”

Strife laughs and it’s a strange, honest laugh. He points at Parvis. “ _That_ face, you get that sort of perplexed look, like you can’t find your keys.”

Parvis lets out a small _hmph_ , and disappears again.

* * *

“You’ve been looking kind of human lately.”

Parvis starts, surprised to see that the human has somehow snuck up on him during his midday nap. He does not have a tail to curl uncomfortably. Instead he hops down from his ledge and looks sheepish, caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. He doesn’t have an explanation for his actions.

“The gardens are still muddy from K.D.” Strife says, holding up a bunch of papers and a book. “Is it okay if I work up here?”

“ **It’s your tower,** ” Parv points out.

“Like that’s stopped you from making a mess.” Strife rolls his eyes and plops down on the ledge next to him.

Parvis almost apologizes. Instead, he stretches out obnoxiously, legs across Strife’s lap, and settles back down to his nap. Will sighs, but opens his book and reads next to him. Parvis does not return to this spot.

* * *

 

The next few days are rough. Parvis is becoming increasingly antsy, Strife is sleeping less again. He drinks a lot of coffee and he takes aceto-whatever for the headaches he’s getting. More than that, he smells peculiar. A weird heady scent with sweet tint to it that only serves to make Parv just as grumpy as Will is.

That is, until Strife tells him politely that he’s going to visit a xephos for a few days – whatever that is – and that Parvis should stay put. Of course, a daemon is not to be commanded about like a dog, so he follows until he comes to edge of Will’s property and is forced to stop short.

The bastard.

He’d finally got his hands on some entrapment runes – probably from that kirin man, only he seems to have put the circle around his _entire_ base. The runes are huge and mocking, and Parvis perches on top of the Solutions Tower to get a better look. The runes mar the landscape, and from here he can see that there are protection runes, and a few weak pacification runes. It's a harsh return to reality.

Parvis tears everything apart. At first, it’s furious and mindless, knocking things to the ground and breaking machinery. Objects litter the ground and machines spark and creak dangerously, he claws at the ground and the walls. How dare he trap him here like a small child? But as the second and third day come and go and it starts to feel tedious. It's likely to achieve nothing. He needs information, needs a _plan_. He needs to stop being distracted and do something with the human.

He spills Strife’s papers and books and other belongings on the ground while the man’s _out_ , as it were, only glancing through them beforehand. It’s all boring nonsense, nothing that points to what he might have summoned Parv for. He needs to know why he’s here, stuck. If Strife has the knowledge and means to finally put in a better circle, why hasn't he banished him back to hell?

It feels less like he’s toying with Strife now, more like he’s trapped – and looking for answers. Amidst the mess of notes and clipboards and rubble, he doesn't find any answers. 


	4. Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One scene. ONE scene. B)   
> Anyways, sorry about delay. I suck.

Will returns four days after he left.  

Parvis thinks he has the guy figured out, knows how he’ll react. There’s the stunned moment of silence as he takes it all in, and then the shouting and afterwards the cleaning. He’s disappointed.

There’s the silence of course, but it’s not nearly as stunned or surprised as he thought it’d be. He crouches and inspects the floors, where Parvis has left deep claw marks in his fit of anger and horror. This seems to be the only thing he didn’t inspect, judging from the way he gives the marks a small confused glare.

Strife doesn’t get angry like he thinks he would. He shouts but it seems to lack bite behind it. It’s not loud enough, he doesn’t curse beyond _goddammit_ and other words he cuts off. He picks one thing up off the ground, and Parvis, though he’s hiding out of the visible realm, leans in closer to get a better look. There’s something scribbled on a piece of paper, some kind of note that Parv doesn’t remember reading at all, even though he rummaged through everything Strife had.

The mysterious note goes into his pants pocket – which look freshly cleaned, he notices. Strife glances around, and Parvis can see the tension in his body. His hands are balled into fists, his shoulders are tense and high, and he’s pretty sure Will is biting the inside of his cheek.

“Fine.” It sounds like it’s not meant for him, mumbled quietly as Will picks up his things and turns and _leaves_. Right back the way he came, or at least as far as Parv can see.

With the patience of an immortal being, Parv waits. He is completely and utterly still as the morning passes, the afternoon, and the evening. It grows dark and cold. Something about this is so unnerving, the waiting, though he denies that he’s waiting at all because it implies some iota of caring. The seconds tick by like hours, the day feels long for the first time in –

The storm arrives without warning, grabs him by the neck and yanks him into the visible realm. It feels like he’s being pulled from water, from the danger of drowning, and he gasps. The kirin, the epitome of calm fury, stands before him, hand fitted around Parvis’ neck. There’s no force behind it, because there doesn’t need to be for Parv to be scared fucking senseless.

“What are you doing?” The kirin asks. Parv tries to recover from the shock of his appearance, instinctively attempting to bow his head in respect, and ends up fumbling clumsily. He grabs the kirin’s wrist for support.

“What are you doing?” He asks again. The kirin, the storm mage, whatever he is, he’s massive. His being is huge, taller than Strife’s tower, and Parvis is a bug under his foot. He stutters nervously.

“ **I – I don’t know. I don’t – I don’t know.** ” Parvis says desperately, quickly.

“ **Stop that.** ” The storm commands, and he does.

“I’m sorry,” His gaze is downcast, staring at the kirin’s arm, because of the way that he’s being held.

There’s tense silence. He has no idea what the kirin is thinking, especially when he can’t look into his face, though he suspects that even if he could, he wouldn’t find much. The kirin seems the type to be a master of his own appearance. Calm. Collected. Eye of the storm, as it were.

“What are you doing with Will Strife?”

“ **I’m** …I don’t know, sir. Please –”

“Sir?” He rumbles and Parvis isn’t sure if it’s with disdain or with amusement. He shifts nervously, tail curling against his leg.

“Master?” He tries again.

“How old are you?” He can feel the weight of the kirin’s gaze, critical of him.

Parvis tries not to look embarrassed. He honestly isn’t certain, with the way time moves in the underworld, but he does know that he’s far younger than the others. Clearly the kirin’s picked up on this, too. It makes him uncomfortable, that he doesn’t know who or what the kirin is, but he seems to easily ascertain exactly what Parv is. It’s unnerving, not knowing where he stands with him.

He’s startled by the kirin’s other hand, strangely gentle, brushing against his brow and then petting his head. Parv doesn’t move, wary as the hand carefully strokes the horns perched on his head. The kirin rumbles again. Perhaps the sound is neither anger nor pleasure. Maybe it’s interest – curiosity?

“A century? Two?” He asks, watching him. “Less?”

“Probably,” Parvis says sheepishly.

“Probably,” he repeats mildly. And then, “What have you noticed about Will Strife?”

Parvis pauses, recalls the events of the past few weeks. Nothing significant stuck out in his mind. He carefully examined every memory he had of William Strife, trying to pick up on something that he might have missed, if that’s what the kirin was implying. Still, it all seemed very…

“He’s boring?” Parv tries. Kirin’s expression does not change, but he blinks. “He has no personality?”

The kirin inclines his head very subtly, barely moving. But Parvis has no idea what it could mean. He makes a face, trying to concentrate. What could possibly be significant about Strife? He’s monotonous and boring, obsessed with his work, doesn’t sleep nearly as much as the other humans he’s encountered. But something must be important, something he hasn’t seen.

“Indeed.” The kirin says. Parvis is thrown for a loop. Was he…? Had he been listening in on his thoughts? Was that possible? No, he must be responding to the personality comment, he needed to relax. He was being paranoid. The kirin blinks.

“As it were,” the kirin says, shifting his grip on Parvis’ being, “whatever you’re planning on doing, whatever you’re waiting for, a word of warning; don’t.”

How succinctly cryptic, Parv thinks. But he grits his teeth and gives a horrifyingly fake smile. “I can assure you I have nothing planned.”

The kirin doesn’t reply, but he gets the feeling he’s unimpressed with Parv. In any case he releases him, the young demon falling flat on his ass without the kirin keeping him up. He huffs but refrains from voicing any complaint, for fear of the consequences. Reckless, he is, but stupid he is not. He still doesn’t know this thing, near blind to what or who he is. Passivity amongst unknowns, he’s learned, is the best tactic. Kiring turns, Parvis blinks, and he’s gone.

In the aftermath of the storm, of which there were only two things; damp earth and one bruised ego, Parv retreats to the tower. He laments and distresses over the threat that the kirin has left with him, and worse, the wrongdoings that _Will Strife_ has committed against him.

Will _Strife_ with his hollowed, cold form and horrifically tainted soul.

Oh, Parv thinks in sudden realization. His soul.

His soul?


	5. A Lit Cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting better at this.

Parvis doesn’t realize it when Strife returns. He’s gathered up what little the human has on daemonology and portals and summoning and pours over it. The runes are carefully constructed from partial characters from the daemon language, _that_ much is obvious. He recognizes their shapes from missives and letters he’s carried, but he can’t read it. He’s illiterate.

He was never supposed to end up in a situation like this; trapped in a mortal realm and having to craft his own exit. And the higher-ups had never deigned to teach him. No one taught the daemon writing, especially not to anyone as low class daemon as him.

Everything he knew about the runes then, would come from the author’s writing or Strife’s.

The portal he’d come through had a simple idea behind it; one place, one subject, one way. But when it came to portals it was never that easy. Their defaults were all-inclusive. A basic portal could theoretically open to every single realm and allow any being to pass through an infinite number of times, though the power requirement would be astronomical, and probably kill the caster. Thus, the specificity of a portal like the one he’d come through, was reflected in the rings and runes.

A simple circle outlines the opening of the portal. Any circle will do, though it is ill-advised to ask a daemon to move through a portal eye the size of a penny, as it can be draining and frustrating. The inner ring of a portal acts as activation, otherwise it would remain as a simple chalk drawing or otherwise. Other rings are added for specifications; a ring that says where the portal connects, a ring that says who may pass through, a ring that says how many times they may pass through, et cetera, et cetera.

Parvis yawns. Reading this information is infuriating, hearing that obviously Strife should have known to add runes of entrapment and otherwise if he knew how to craft such a portal. It’s also extremely boring. The daemon characters are difficult to focus on, to study, especially when they mean nothing to him. He sighs, dropping his face into the bosom of the book in frustration.

Okay, so he needs a portal into realm of daemons, useable by himself only, a single time. He just needs to mostly recreate the portal strife had used, but change the subject to be specifically him instead of a single random daemon.

He stares at the odd blue paper that Strife’s drawn this on, comparing with the crumbling book and notes that are written on the side. Which ring was the subject? The runes blurred and twisted into odd shapes. This would be easier if he could focus.

Parv’s identified a few characters thanks to the book; the characters for daemon, power, incubus and succubus. One, two, three – the third ring seems to have the character for daemon in this particular rune, but it could mean the daemon realm.

Dammit! He slams his hand against the desk. This shouldn’t be so hard. He shouldn’t be here, trapped and stuck in the home of a human who won’t make a fucking deal with him or even tell him why he summoned him – let alone send him back like any polite being would. Parv had heard horror stories of daemons being trapped in crystals for magical staves, but he’d never figured he’d be trapped in a strange human’s home. It was inhumane, cruel and unusual. He’d done nothing wrong. Not to him.

When Parv stops pouring over the notes and the runes, and the sudden headache he has fades, he looks for Strife.

He finds him working with machines again, kneeling next to them. His hands are in the belly of a beastly machine, one that Parvis knows he’s probably broken. Strife doesn’t spare him a glance, too busy working the wiring inside. He slide his thumb and his index finger down the length of the wires, tracing it back to something. Something he then tries to extract.

Parv puts his notes on top of the machine, tempted to slam them, but doesn’t. For whatever reason. Strife doesn’t pay them any attention, instead bowing his head to get a better look inside. It’s awkward, for some reason that Parvis can’t identify. Maybe it’s the intimacy that Strife seems to have with these shuddering and crunching mechanical _things_. Or maybe it’s standing in front of the results of his recent tantrum, realizing the damage he’s done.

He swallows his guilt. This was Strife’s fault.

“Send me back.” He tells him simply, pointing to the papers and the characters.

No reply. Strife slides his gaze over to the papers while he works, but he doesn’t speak.

“You made the portal to bring me here, I know you can send me back.” He picks the pen up and circles some of his notes. “All you have to do is change the runes.” Something about this feels so wrong to him, desperate. Like he’s bartering for his own freedom. He _is_ , and Strife still doesn’t even look like he’s listening.

He pulls some kind of circuit board from the machine, untangling it from the wires delicately. It looks fine to Parv, but as soon as it’s free, Strife tosses it on top of Parvis’ notes and goes back to his work.

He grits his teeth.

“Fu –“

“That’s not going to work.” Strife says, retracting his hands from the machine and wiping his hands on his pants. He picks on of the papers up and hands them back to Parvis, “It needs your name.”

“My name?” Parv holds the papers to his chest, confused.

“Which I doubt you know.”

Glorified fucking mechanic. Parvis dumps the papers on the ground, letting them scatter against the ground, and shows himself out. He barely spares a backwards glance for the “Fuck you” he spits out as he leaves.

* * *

Later he finds the notes and the book sitting neatly on Strife’s bed. Which would be strange, since he knew Strife pretty much never used it, but he guesses that his occupation of it – and the bedroom in general – haven’t gone unnoticed.

He’s being unreasonable. He’s being a fucking jerk and he knows it. Or at least, this is what Parv tells himself as his inner monologue or whatever reminds him that it was only a few days previous that he had nearly torn the tower apart in unbridled rage. Probably a source of anger for Strife – but it doesn’t mean he gets to keep him here like a – a pet.

Why does he feel like he’s stepping on Strife’s toes, then? Getting in the way, taking up space in the machine-cramped building. Parv doesn’t have the heart to touch anything outside, strangely enough. The sunflowers and the garden and the animals that are free to come and go at will are stupid reminders of his problems.

He has no name.

Of course there’s ‘Parvis’, but it’s really just something he’d given himself. A nickname. He has no name in the daemon tongue and thus no presence in the magic involved in sorcery.

The urge to literally tear the building down, brick by black brick, rises in his throat. He stands, stepping away from the bed. Relax, relax. Parvis shuts his eyes against the array of notes on the bed, all of which tell him how right Strife is. He rubs his hand against the back of his neck, light and comforting, slides his hand to his chest and tries to focus. His breathing vibrates through his chest and against his palm.

Okay, so he has no name.

That was…well, normal among lower class daemons. They were often made and often killed, and not worried over enough by anyone important. Daemons had no mothers to speak of, no one to give names, so the task fell to anyone with rank, but few cared to.

What solution was there, then? Give himself a name in a language he can’t write? Could he fabricate a name for himself? Was it that easy?

No, surely there was something beyond that. Names had magic and power behind them, you couldn’t just give yourself a name and expect the magic to accept it simply because you say so. Right?


End file.
